


the battle that kills the soul

by charleybradburies



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Character Study, Essos, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/F, Gen, Out of Character, POV Daenerys, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Past Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Relationship(s), Past Violence, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Resurrection, Somewhat, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-02 09:48:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19196437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charleybradburies/pseuds/charleybradburies
Summary: Daenerys is resurrected - at least, physically speaking. But with little actual recollection of who she'd become and what she'd done in recent years, where can she go from there?[Note: Not really pro-grown!Dany or queen!Dany. This will not be the cup of tea for most people who want a resurrected Dany story.][title inspired by "miracle" by the score.]





	the battle that kills the soul

Dany wakes, terrified, surrounded by people she's never seen. They're cloaked in red, looking at her expectantly, and she's bound by her heavy black dress, a garment she doesn't recognize. She feels braids heavy down her back, heavier than she can recall hers being. It had not been so long since she had lost Drogo that they could be so heavy, had it?

"Your Grace," a dark-haired woman says pleasantly, a murmur with a smile, her hands clasped in front of her blood red gown. 

_Your Grace?_ Dany furrows her brow. She was no Westerosi queen, yet, but a Khaleesi. 

"I am so glad the dragon brought you to us. He seemed so very concerned as well." 

_The_ dragon? She had three, and only Drogon, perhaps, who had always been the largest of them, was large enough to carry her anywhere yet, and she had not yet tried to ride him. Where were his brothers?

"I - I..." she stammers, and the woman reaches back to another woman in a red gown, who holds out a chalice to Dany. 

"Water, your Grace. You should drink." 

She obliges, although that answers no questions. Her head hurts, so water should be of help.

Dany realizes there are flames tattooed upon the second woman's face. _Was she a slave?_ Dany had freed her own; she wanted only the service of the willing. Where was she, that she was being waited upon by slaves?

"S- Ser, Ser J-Jorah," she murmurs a moment later, her voice still shaky. "M-my bear, he would have come with me. D-Drogon would have brought him, too."

A gust of wind cools the room for just a moment, and she notices the window through which it came. Without the breeze the room is full of stifling heat and the smell of fish, and Dany unthinkingly reaches to undo her heavy dress. Its chain has beautiful dragon heads of metal, she notes, a detail that seems very like something Viserys would have worn. Had she intended to honor him with this gown? _Why?_ Had someone else had it made for her?

The dark-haired woman gently helps her remove the dress, and Dany finds that there's a wound in her chest. She cannot feel it from inside her but the scab of it is horrid beneath her fingers, and her breath becomes strained. 

The woman begins to cloak her in an airy red gown, much like those Illyrio had gifted her. She doesn't quite smile at the memory, but moves her hand from her chest anyway, to let the woman fasten the garment.

"Ser Jorah died valiantly, protecting you and your people in battle at Winterfell, your Grace," says a man who'd not yet spoken to her, stood still as stone against a wall, his skin not quite dark enough to blend with the wall behind him.

No, it couldn't be. This was a dream, this was a nightmare. She'd never even been to her home country, let alone the North, and surely Jorah would not have left her for it.

"That's...no, that's not...." Dany stammers, her voice growing shamefully weak.

The woman helping her looks back to the man, then to the torch set upon the wall, then back to Dany again. She slips Dany's hands into her own, and those are warm, hot even. Dany nearly recoils, but she holds herself as sturdy as she can.

_Fire cannot kill a dragon._

The heat squeezes her tight.

"Your Grace, can you tell me what the year is? What's the last thing you remember?"

Dany pauses. She...

"I...I do not know. We...had I reached Meereen? Is it...I...I don't know..."

The man sighs, and the dark-haired woman presses a saccharine smile onto her face.

"There is much to speak of, Your Grace. I am afraid you seem to have lost a great deal of memory. The time between your death and your arrival, the likely cause. We'll discuss things later. For now you should regain your strength. Sleep, eat. The dragon has stayed about the city; hopefully, you can see him on the morrow, when some of the shock has passed." 

Dany nods unsteadily.

_A great deal of memory. If even Jorah was gone from her, if only one dragon was with her...how much must she be missing?_


End file.
